


The Lady and the Lad

by Meztli



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cosplay, Costumes, F/M, Festivals, Fluff, Modern AU, Nerdery, Other, Platonic Relationships, Romance, Some Humor, inuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:53:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meztli/pseuds/Meztli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in a modern day renaissance festival, in which Tauriel cosplays as an elf, the Durin Brothers are a popular comedy/musical stage act, Thranduil is still King, and Smaug is a sensual fire performer whose spirit-animal and alter-ego is a dragon</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mead

**Author's Note:**

> Whilst I continue to work out the third chapter of my other Kiliel fic, I'll give you this. Hope you like.

Tauriel's shift in the Mirkwood Armory shop ends and she now has a full hour to spend the remainder of the festival as a spectator before it closes. She is dressed as an elf, with prosthetic ear tips elongating her already somewhat large ears, and strands of her auburn hair plaited and pulled back in the center of her hair, the rest of it cascading down past her hips. A forest green dress and brown bodice made out of vinyl she wears, an outfit she designed and fashioned herself and took long hours of labor to complete. Her hard work has paid off in the compliments she's received throughout the day, but mostly in the confidence it gives her in embodying her favorite mythical creature.

There are other folk dressed in costume as well, and not limited in clothing pertaining solely to the renaissance period. Among the thinning crowd she spots Link and Dumbledore and other fantasy or sci-themed cosplays of fictional or original characters. There are faeries with wire wings and witches in risque dresses and other elves wearing clothes varying in simplicity and elegance. Other attendees are dressed as peasant folk or royalty of different time periods, but the most common sight is that of women wearing gypsy raiment. Often a gypsy belly dancer hip scarf is the only accessory they wear, mismatched and thrown in with the rest of their regular civilian clothing, the most minimum of efforts.

The annual opening day of the largest and oldest renaissance festival in the states is always hectic, and as much as Tauriel enjoyed her first day of work at the faire, Tauriel thirsts for a drink of the alcoholic sort, preferably of the wine variety, to unwind. The crowd is thinning as the faire draws to its end, the last of the stage performances are bidding the audience goodnight and the vendors tend to the last of their tentative customers. On her way to the nearest mead shop, Tauriel stops by Bowman's Tavern, where Bard, or Bard the Bartender as many of the ren-fest geek contingent call him, is serving up the last of his customers. He acknowledges her with a nod from his post behind the bar, his handsome face showing vestiges of the day's toil. His daughter, Sigrid, is wiping the counters, her mouth drawing into a smile when she sees Tauriel approach. 

“How was your first day?” Sigrid asks, pausing from her dutiful chores as a bar maid. A pretty young girl in a steel-boned corset and layered skirt, Sigrid does well in tips that compensate for the minimum wage she earns. Tauriel herself gets paid by commission, as is the case for many of the faire employees who work in merchandising. But Tauriel is not here for the pay. She is here because she feels she belongs in this world wrought by history, industry, and folklore, even if it only lasts for ten hours a day, two day a week. 

“I sold a fair amount of knives, some swords,” Tauriel responds. “Busy day?”

“Yep. It was good except for when a drunk guy was hitting on me. Dad kicked him out before things got worse, or he would have kicked him out in the literal sense. Would you like a beer? I can sneak you a premium draught, but you'll have to come around in the back.”

Tauriel shakes her head. Beer is low on her list of beverages of any kind. “I'm going to get mead. When are you off?”

“Till close. I have to clean the taps,” Sigrid says with lament. She is not yet twenty, but has license to serve alcoholic beverages. Tauriel is eight years her senior. “ I brought an extra sleeping bag in case you change your mind about camping and partying with the rest of us nerds.”

Tauriel is unsure but says her thanks for her consideration, and sets again to the mead bar, her brown pleather boots padding softly on dirt. The line to the mead is relatively short, thank the gods, and as she advances two of the folk in line stand out from the rest. One has blond medium-length wavy hair and mustache that drops down on either side of his mouth in braids that are the length of his neck, four other braids running down from his temples. The other is a brunet, his hair a similar length but with no adornment, his hair half way down and slightly messy. She couldn't be entirely sure, but she thinks they might be the Durin Brothers, a popular comedy/musical duo she read about in the festival's official web page. 

The one with the dark hair stops whatever he's saying to the other and gawks at her, turning to her when she gets to the foot of the line. “Good evening fair elven maiden! That is mighty fine battle attire that you wear. Did you tailor it yourself?”

In a regular setting, his greeting would have been outlandish, but on the grounds of the festival, it is common for goers and performers to be in character while in costume. 

Tauriel returns his smile. “Why, yes, I did, and thank you. You have very nice attire as well. Both of you.”

Despite the August humidity, they are both dressed in layers of clothing, the dark-haired one in a blue undershirt and darker blue vest with gold trimming, lending him a warrior-like appearance, the blond one dressed similarly in a hooded undershirt and mauve vest. They both wear brown pants, heavy leather boots, and carry weapons about their back and waist, which are secured with safety ties in accordance with festival policy. 

“Thank you, my lady. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kili, at your service,” he says, bowing swiftly and with great flourish.

“And Fili,” the blond says, mimicking the gesture with less grandiosity. 

“Tauriel,” she says, curtsying clumsily. 

“Lovely name,” says Kili, his teeth white and straight as he maintains an unwavering, high-spirited smile. 

“Do you work at the armory by the games area?” asks Fili. Of the two, he seems the most reserved. His hair and bearing are almost lion-like. He might be older by a year or two. 

“Yes, how'd you know?” 

“We saw you on my way to the stage. I was going to introduce myself then but you were busy with clients and we needed to get to the stage,” Kili responds. That confirms they were indeed the Durin brothers. Like his brother, Kili has a thick Irish accent. Whether the accent is authentic or part of the act, Tauriel is uncertain, because there are ren-fest folk who fake accents, inclined in rendering poor imitations of British accents. For that matter, she is unsure if they are really brothers. They do not resemble each other much, except that they are both equally and ruggedly handsome. They are also shorter than her by about half a foot. Standing at 5'8', Tauriel is not exceedingly tall but it is also not rare for her to stand as tall as other men. These two, however, are shorter than most men she encounters, yet better-looking than most. 

The duo are next in line, and as they are handing the bar maid their I.D.'s Kili turns to her. “What would the lady like to drink? On me, of course.”  


“Which do you recommend? I have only ever had sack mead,” she says, surprised but grateful or the offer. 

“Hmm,” he says, his fingers wrapped around his chin and stubble in mock-thoughtfulness. “Forest green eyes, forest green clothes, a sweet smile. I think Forest Fruit will be the one for you. It's sweet but not cloying.”

Tauriel's smile widens, finding the line about “a sweet smile” sappy yet charming. Little wonder that most of their fan-base are women of differing age-levels.“Very well, Forest Fruit it is.”

“A Forrest Fruit and two Troll's Blood, please,” Kili orders for the three of them. 

She hands the bar maid her I.D. and Kili hands Tauriel her drink once the bar maid serves it. 

“Thank you, you didn't have to,” says Tauriel as she takes it. The mead is a carmine red and it smells like berries. 

“It's your first day working her isn't it?” asks Kili before she can take a sip. 

“Yes. And how'd you know that?”

“I would've remembered you if I'd seen you before, Lady Tauriel. Cheers.” his smile is almost impish as he raises his cup and then takes a pull of mead. 

Tauriel takes a sip of her own drink to hide what she sure was going to be bashful smile. She is not usually one to take to honeyed words, and she is fairly certain that him being a stage actor has influence on his comportment, but she nonetheless cannot help being charmed. 

She utters a grunt of delight that is beyond her control as the rich liquid touches her taste buds. 

Kili laughs a laugh that is like nectar itself. “Told ya it was good.”

Embarrassed yet again, she says nothing and takes another pull of mead. 

He is flirting with her, and she knows it, and his brother knows it because he raises an eyebrow and a there is a hint of savvy, feint amusement on his lips. Fili dismisses himself, patting Kili on the back. “I'm going to find the others. I'll wait for you at the campsite. Nice to meet you, Tauriel.”

“So, what are the rest of you plans for the evening?” Kili asks her as Fili merges with the rest of the crowd. 

“I was just going to sip the rest of this fine mead and wander around for the last half hour before going home and watching British dramas with my cat.”

He gives her yet another infectious laugh.“You're not going to the after-party? They're quite fun, and as your first day it is nearly mandatory that you do.”

Tauriel had been angling more towards ending her day as the usual social recluse that she is but now she is really, and not just sort of, considering to stay for post-fest shenanigans.  
“I might change my mind,” she says with a degree of measured flirtation and challenge. 

Kili's eyebrows raise higher on his forehead and he grins lopsidedly, a grin that would surely has felled many a proper lady. Tauriel does not want to start a summer fling, and casual dating is not her forte, but for the first time in quite some time, her belly is swirling with proverbial butterflies.

“Well, leave that up to me. I'll be your guide for the remainder of the evening, should you do me the honor. I know my way around the grounds quite well. Course, there's not much time left before everything closes but at least the lines are shorter.”

“A guide would be nice,” she responds, and follows him. 

 

They visit a few shops along the way, but mostly, they just talk. She learns that aside from their stage performances, the Durin Brothers also have a crafts and jewelry shop of eponymous title set near the Mermaid Cove area, which is the direction they are heading, taking the long way so that she may look at the other shops and attractions around. He reveals that he is indeed Irish and Fili is indeed his real brother, and that they followed their uncle to the states to be involved in his business endeavor.

“The Lonely Mountain Brewery,” he says with pride, “I brought some with for the after-party if you'd like to try some.”

She nods her head despite her disfavor for beer. He looks so enthused, she has no heart to refuse his offer. When she tells him she has Irish ancestry and recently moved to the state from Alberta, he is surprised and delighted. His smile falters, however, when she adds that she is living with her ex high-school boyfriend and now best friend Legolas, who was the one who introduced her to Bard and Sigrid and several of the other ren-fest team months prior to her employment. 

“The crowned prince,” he says, referring to the festival's custom of appointing royalty. Legolas is the festival's prince, and his father, Thranduil is the beloved and wise king. His tone suggests he is a bit disappointed at the news. “Is it odd? To live with an ex?”

“Not if he's a good friend,” Tauriel says, wary of where the conversation is veering. 

“Yes but... Guys tend to have a harder time completely getting over an ex. There's always that little bit of hope they may win the girl back.” he says, dropping his old period dialect. 

“It's not like that,” she says, getting somewhat irritated at his presumption.

“Are you sure? He might still have feelings for you.” He speaks with doubtful intonation. 

Tauriel halts in front of a clothing shop, where headless manikins display detailed corsets over peasant dresses and skirts and gowns in just about every color. She feels her face go hot with anger. “Excuse me, but we just met. And I'm sure if you knew Legolas well he would have mentioned you by now.”

He looks at her with a regretful, wounded expression. “I meant no offense. Forgive me. I will leave you alone if you want.”

“I think I do.” His kicked puppy-dog eyes almost sway her to say reconsider, but she will not fall for such an act. She retraces her path back to get another round of mead before the closing ceremony begins, deciding that she will not go to the after-party after all.


	2. Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the those of you who've read and liked this, I thank you. This is really meant to be a feel-good fluffy fanfic to take the edge off from the angst in my other story. It's been fun, but I must really focus on the other one now. Cheers!

A green, phallic pickled vegetable is waved at her, poised in the air like a scepter. 

“Oy there, pretty lass, I will trade you my dill for a bill. Regular or hot n' spicy, however you like it best.” Pete the Pickle Man (whose real name is Brad) punctuates the last phrase with a wink, and Tauriel rolls her eyes, declining the fermented cucumber-on-a-stick with a shake of her copper-haired head. 

It's not long before she is again accosted by a hawker selling roses with petals stained with food coloring, accepting it only after the man offers a tri-colored rose as a gift. “A rose for a rose,” he says, and another wink is imparted. 

She sidesteps sprightly children and inattentive adults and eschews more vendors pitching her promises of top-quality craftsmanship, mentally bookmarking some of the shops to return and peruse over after she catches this next performance. She has a two-hour window to freely roam the grounds before she needs to return to selling medieval-inspired weaponry, and she's not going to pass up on viewing the most promising stage acts the faire has to offer. 

Skirting a lengthy line to the Mermaid Cove and bypassing the Wizard School booth, Tauriel reaches Esgaroth Stage, where a trio of female dancers gyrate hula hoops rimmed with fire about their hips in rhythm to folkloric acoustics. The spectators' backs to her, she scans the herd and spots what she was looking for: a train of flaxen, glorious hair attached to a person that can only be her best friend. As discreetly as she can, Tauriel slinks to the space Legolas reserved for her, which he did by using his cloak as an impromptu space-holder, and places it on his lap to sit beside him and clap with the rest as the belly dancers end their scintillating motions. 

“Did I miss much?” She asks as the dancers leave the stage in procession.

“That was the first performance,” he responds in close proximity to her ear. His breath smells like wine, Riesling no doubt, and based on the atypically enduring smile he wears, she estimates he's downed a bottle in the last hour. Thin and effeminate as he is and looks, Legolas can hold his liquor, hardly affected by copious amounts of alcohol except in becoming friendlier. 

A tall, lanky man with a wormy face and mop full of chocolate-brown, curling locks steps onto the podium, wearing harem trousers and crochet vest in an Aladdin-like fashion. 

“Give another round of applause to the tantalizing Spitfires, everyone,” he says in a throaty British accent, and Tauriel can hear the authenticity of his accent. “But we are just getting warmed up-” the pun is not lost “- I am Smaug the Dragon, or Smaug the Stupendous, or Smaug, Chiefest of Calamities, and I am here to keep things lit,” he finishes with yet another pun and the two wands he grips in hands flare up, twisting them in sinuous motions as the first notes of a bohemian tune begin to materialize. One of the belly dancers returns with more wants and she begins to toss him one after the other until Smaug at present is juggling six wands then seven, then eight, snubbing their extremely flammable surroundings as he continues his pyromaniac conjuring with trick after trick: He swigs flammable liquid and spits it out onto the torch like dragonfire; he licks his skin with flames like arduous kisses; he lashes a whip of fire like the tail of a fiery beast. 

The Spitfires take the stage once more and deliver another choreography, this time dancing lustfully around Smaug as if they were flames and he truly a dragon. Then, a gigantic hoop is brought out and ignited into a blazing ring of fire. Through this, Smaug leaps with acrobatic ease, landing with his arms extended in a T, and thus the performance ends without any staff or audience members (accidentally) incinerated. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he shouts above the applause. “If you enjoyed the music, there are copies of the band's cds for sale in the back, There, where you see the lovely Rebekah waving. And if you'd like to take me home with you tonight-” here the audience titters “-there are shoulder puppets of my true dragon form for sale as well.”

There is already a wait for the shoulder puppets as several members of the female branch are eager to take the sensual Smaug home even in puppet form. The sign reads $60, and at that price Tauriel already resigns herself from purchasing the red chibi, serpentine version of Smaug the human, cursing the gods of finances. 

“I'll get you one.” She is unsurprising to hear Legolas make the kindly offer. He already has his wallet out.

“No. Thank you, but no.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift. You know you want one.”

What the hell, she won't win this fight and she really does want that baby dragon to be perched on her shoulder since five minutes ago. 

Legolas trades his greens for the Smaug, and Tauriel trades him a kiss on the cheek for the Smaug, and soon she is happily flaunting her new pet fiend. 

“Where would you like to go next?” Legolas asks as they stroll along the stockade of the Greenwood Forest. 

“Well, the Durin Brother have a performance that should be starting shortly.” She says as she pauses on the fringes of the footpath, trying to balance a tone of both indifference and interest. She had strategically planned out how she would spend her free time by using a copy of the yearly-updated Renaissance Festival Guidebook, a factoid she kept hidden from Legolas to spare herself from getting teased about using the “rookie hand tool,” and found that the Durin Brothers were incidentally scheduled to perform within her break. 

“I see,” he says with an unsettling neutral expression. She, of course, did fill him in on the incident soon after she got home from the faire via a a brief exchange of texts, she from the underneath her cosmos-themed throw blankie and he from somewhere in the campsite during post-ren fest partying. 

“I thought I'd check it out since Sigrid keeps raving about it. And, well, I thought I might as well apologize to Kili after the show.” Sigrid gushed in particular about Fili, the blond Durin, and had insisted that Kili was decent guy and that oh my gosh they should go out they would be so cute together. Though Tauriel had no intention to stoke whatever had been simmering between she and Kili within the first hour of meeting him, she certainly did not want to start her internship at the faire by making enemies, especially none that were mutual friends with hers, which was like everyone who worked there, and resolved to establish an amicability between them. It had nothing to do with her actually wanting to see the dark-haired Durin again. None whatsoever. 

“I see,” says Legolas again, a chink in his jaw being the only indication of emotion. 

“Stop that.” 

“What?”

“Your feigned indifference. Tell me what you think.”

Finally, Legolas allows himself a gruff sigh and exasperated, sideways cast of the eyes. “What can I say except that I know you too well to know when you have underlying motives about something, even if you yourself don't realize it.”

“I do not,” she protests, and when she catches how hastily she responds, she says, “And if I did, which I don't, would you disapprove?”

Legolas crosses his arms, switching into that patronizing elder-brother mode Tauriel sure finds irritating. “Tauriel, you're an adult and you don't need my consent for anything.” 

Funny he should say that when he's chastising her.

“I'm not asking for your consent, just opinion.” 

He shrugs. “I don't know. I hardly know him. Everyone else thinks him charming and an absolute 'cutie pie.' I don't trust anyone who is that charming.”

“You don't trust anyone who isn't, either.” 

Legolas shrugs again, except now his impassiveness is slipping and he begins to look constrained. She waits until he speaks what's tickling his mind. “Well, there is one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“His uncle is Thorin. You know, the guy my dad kind of hates.”

“Oh.” She understands now. And, wow. 

That would explain why Kili had looked uncomfortable with the mention of Legolas. She didn't quite know all the details because when it came to his father, Legolas was cryptic about certain things, but she did know Thranduil and Thorin had a troubled history that went several years back, something over a business partnership gone wrong. 

“Why didn't you mention this before?”

“I don't like to gossip, Tauriel. Besides, I'm not sure if it matters.” 

“It would've still been a nice little tidbit to impart on why Kili acted weird after I mentioned you.”

“If he thinks my dad and Thorin's feud are an influence on his opinion about me, I'm not sure if he deserves your attention.” There is a hint of envy in his tone that Tauriel has not heard in years since dating him. No, that is absurd. She and Legolas have been best friends for nearly a decade, even if most of that friendship had been long distance when she still lived in Canada. 

“Well, have you ever tried getting to know him? Or let me guess, your dad prohibited from making friends with anyone related to Thorin,” she says in a knowing tone. 

Legolas gives her a nonplussed stare that tells her she's hit the mark. 

“I thought so,” she says, not unkindly. “You shouldn't let you dad boss you around so much.”

“Technically, he is my boss, as I am employed under him,” he says a little too mildly. He's gone back to seeming unfazed, which frustrates her but is typical of his character. “But I see your point. I do find it peculiar that you all of sudden defend him so fervently after you were ranting about him just last night. What did you call him? 'A short little shit'?”

Tauriel is sure she must look sheepish. “That was mean of me, I know. It's just that-”

“You were starting to like him. Don't even deny it. I know you far too well.” Legolas doesn't sound condescending as one might think, but there is something like resignation in the way he looks at her, which she currently chooses to ignore and save for later examination. 

“I... I did want to get to know him better,” she admits. True, Kili had made an impression on her, and her prickly reaction had been due to being gravely disappointed in his premature jealousy and presumption of her relationship with Legolas before they could even get through the first phase of casual flirtation. Romantic first-time encounters are a literary trope Tauriel snubs when translated to real-life, but she can't deny that she'd been feeling extremely attracted to him, and that it had been more than just a physical force pulling her to him. “But that might not be a good idea. I don't want to start a serious relationship with anyone, but I don't want a fuck-buddy either.”

Tauriel is the kind of person who doesn't approach things half-assedly, and when she gives her time, body, and attention to anything, she gives herself completely, and that was the case with men, which is why she's remained single for as long as she had. The last time she tried a casual romance, her heart had been left broken and had taken some time to heal. With Legolas, it had been different, because she'd never fallen in love with him, but she did love him, and so the transition into boyfriend to boy-friend had been natural, at least for her. She was starting to question Legolas's real feelings towards her.

“I know” he says, and he gives her an empathetic smile. “Ah, well you better hurry up. They're about to start. It's almost 3. I'll walk with you there. The Manor is on the way, and dad- I mean His Majesty,” he corrects with mock-reverence “expects me to be there for the feast. As does ma.”

“Sounds good,” she says, and walks with him. 

“It's kind of hard to not break my vow of veganism with all that delicious smelling food around me.” Legolas is referring to his recent conversion to a vegan diet that his hipster yoga-enthusiast friends got him into. Tauriel is trying it herself, and find that it's made her feel lighter, but also needs to eat twice as much to feel fulfilled and is not sure how long she can keep it up, especially with those cursed juicy turkey legs popping up everywhere.

Fortunately, the Hammer and Axe Stage is right around the corner, but unfortunately they find that all the spaces on the benches are being occupied by a sundry of rumps. 

“Thanks again for the dragon,” Tauriel says as she manipulates a wire in Smaug's wing to make it wag.

Legolas smiles and drifts away, fetching several appreciative looks as he weaves his way around the crowds. 

Tauriel decides to stand on the sidelines of the benches, midway from the stage. A minute later, the audience claps as a familiar golden-haired lion/man takes the stage, followed by a dark-haired puppy/man. The pup, Kili, spots her and looks momentarily taken aback, but then his smile broadens into a smile that is entirely too brilliant to not make her ears burn slightly.

“Good afternoon ladies and gen-” Fili pauses to scan the audience, his hand over his forehead as if to block off the sun, for dramatic purposes most like “and more ladies. Where are all the men?” Here the audience laughs, 

“There!” Kili exclaims, pointing a seated man. “And there, and there!” He points to the handful of men in the estrogen-laden congregation. 

They introduce themselves as “Fili!” and “Kili” and in unison, “At you service.”

So that's where that comes from.

As Tauriel soon discovers, their act is a mix of improv interaction with their audience, an exchange of wits and insults between each other, a toss of innuendo here, some coquetry there, and a whole lot of fiddle-playing, singing and dancing. During a song known by their regulars, members of the crowd join in for the chorus, and the coltish tune is so catchy Tauriel herself joins in for the last part of it, muttering the words so as not to appear too enthusiastic. She's relieved that Kili hasn't singled her out as they have been to doing to some of the people, flirting or teasing them regardless of their gender or age (so long as they weren't minors). 

“The time has come for us to leave you,” says Kili in that pleasant Irish accent of his.

“Noooo!” Goes the crowd.

“Ah yes. But before we do that, we will play one more song for you, and when we are done, we will ask you, the audience, to vote for which one of us played it better by cheering. Okay?”

“Yes!”

And so they have a fiddle-off, or whatever you call it, and by the end of the song, the crowd is divided in who played it better, because the brothers are quite even in their skills and enthusiasm. 

“Well, Fili, it looks like we'll need a tie breaker for this one. Hm, who shall we choose.”

Don't pick me, don't pick me, oh gods, he'd looking right at me. 

“You there, fair elf-maiden with hair like a setting sun,” Kili says, pointing in her direction, and she knows he means her because there is no other elf-maiden with her color of hair. And because he would choose her, the scoundrel. “You will decide which of the two is the best fiddler.”

Seeing no way out of this, she lifts her chin and points to her choice. “I decree that Fili, the brother with hair like the morning sun, is the best fiddler in all the land.”

Kili looks all too amused with her selection, and bows to his brother as the crowd cheers on.

As most of the crowd disperses and the Durin Brothers are ambushed by a flock of admirers, Tauriel considers leaving before she is late to her post, deciding she'll make her apology when he isn't so, uh, busy. But Kili catches her attention with a wave of his hand, breaking through the aggregation and making a beeline to her. She pretends his smile does not affect her as he stands in front of her.

“Hello, miss.” There is sweat beading his forehead. Fiddle-playing and dancing while wearing layers of clothing in the midst of August would do that to a person.

“Hi,” is all she manages to brilliantly conjure.

“I hope you enjoyed the show.”

“I did,” she responds honestly, because they really are indeed quite funny and deserve the hype they've received.

“My thanks. And for the record, you agree that Fili is the better fiddler, dancer, and singer”

Tauriel laughs. “To be honest, I think you both are at level, but I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of winning after you singled me out.”

“Ah,” he says, and his smile becomes peculiarly coy. “Sorry about that.”

Tauriel chuckles nervously. “Well, to be honest I came here to apologize to you. I overreacted. I shouldn't have stormed off like that. It was immature of me. And, really, I should be used to people thinking Legolas and I are dating by now. It's nothing new. I'm sorry. For being a jerk.”

Her speech hadn't traveled from her brain to her mouth as she had planned, but she stops there before she continues to ramble and stumble into saying something stupid. 

He must sense her discomfiture, but if he does, he give no indication of it and offers her an affable curve of his mouth. “I have nothing to forgive, Tauriel. I was out line, to be sure, and don't have a right to judge something that's entirely your business. But, I'm glad that you're no longer angry with me. It would be a shame if we couldn't be on amicable terms. After all, we will be likely running into each other for the next 3 months, and I should like to be able to say hi whenever we cross paths.”

“That would be nice. Feel free to stop by the armory some time” she adds, hoping it doesn't come off as desperate as that is certainly not her intention. 

And he does stop by the armory, but not until six days later, when the Renaissance Festival re-opens for its weekend continuance. He has a caramel apple on each hand, one already half-devoured, and the other he bears to her not unlike when she was offered the pickle except that it doesn't look lewd because it's an apple, not something that looks like a phallus. 

On second thought, it somewhat resembles an impaled testicle.

She brushes off the uncharacteristically dirty thought and signals Kili to wait until she is finished with the client, who turns out to be just a curious drifter. 

He is eyeballing the weaponry displayed along a wall, more observant than curious at the array of things you could pierce, dismember, cleave and just generally kill someone with. 

“Is that for me?” She points with her chin to the sugary fruit. 

“I thought I would seal the peace treaty with a tasty treat-y. Okay, that was awful, but here.”

She rolls her eyes and chuckles and takes the offering from his hand, and their fingers meet briefly. They make it a point to ignore that they are conscious of the fact that their skin touched. 

“That's very kind of you, thank you.” It was an unnecessary but sweet (blast, another pun) gesture. 

“I wasn't sure if you're allergic to nuts, so I got you a plain one instead. I made the mistake of getting a girl I was taking out on a date a box of chocolates once, and some of them contained nuts, and well, I ended up not having a date. Uh, not that this situation and that one are comparable. I'm just stating my reason on why I take allergens into consideration now. Was quite traumatic.”

She is not about to tell him she's trying this vegan diet thing and would be violating code by ingesting something containing butter (dairy), because for one she's only loosely a vegan, and another because he looks like he just recovered from a fumble by mentioning the word “date.”

“I'm not allergic to nuts, but thank you for being so thoughtful. And I'm sorry for bad date experience. We all have those.” She's had many, but she's not about to tell him that either. 

Though she'd like to take a bite of the apple to illustrate her gratitude, Tauriel is sure there is not way to consume a caramel apple without being messy. 

Kili smirks as if he can see into her mind, but thankfully says nothing further about it. Instead, he turns his attention to the longbow mounted on the wall, roving his eyes down the pattern carved onto the limb, his free hand traveling down its length as if caressing the longbow without touching it. “I hear you do archery.” 

“Yes, I was told the same of you.” Legolas is the one who'd divulged that intriguing scrap of information about Kili, and it sort of had come out of the blue while they were having breakfast, as if he'd been withholding that factoid and deciding it best she know. Tauriel is always happy to meet other fellow archers, and knowing that Kili is one makes him that much more, well, attractive. 

A customer walks in and halts whatever Kili is about to say. Tauriel mildly resents the intrusion of what was surely about to be a scintillating archery-geek conversation, and is surprised to see that it's none other than the King himself.

Thranduil looks like he's just walked into them making out. “Oh, hello there, Kili.”

“Your Majesty.” Kili regards him dubiously. 

“I will come back at another time,” Thranduil says, and is about to leave when Kili speaks out. 

“It's okay, I was about to leave,” he says, and turns back to Tauriel. “I will leave you to your business. I do have to go on stage shortly” he says, shooting her a wink she finds she doesn't mind and admittedly likes. 

Damn, he is a charmer. 

“Kili,” she calls out, and he does an exaggerated pause and turn.

“Yes, m'lady?”

“I will be at the after-party tonight.”

He smirks, and says, “I'll see you there.”

Thranduil quirks an eyebrow at her. “The Durin Brother? I did not think him your type.”

“What do you mean? He was just in here looking at weapons.”

“Sure,” he says, sounding almost amused, but says nothing further of it, to her relief. “I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. As King, I need to know if my subjects are well.”

“You take your job way too seriously, my King,” she says, and takes a bite off the gooey treat. 

 

Very few tents are setup when Tauriel arrives at the campsite, located in the outskirts of the grounds by the Elvenking's Gate, and finds Legolas setting up the tent they'll share since she does have one of their own. She knows it will give people more reason to believe they have rekindled their romantic relationship, and while the opinions of others regarding herself are rarely consequential to her, a certain short and cheeky guy comes to mind, 

“Need help?”

“I've got this. But you could fetch me a veggie burger, if you want to make yourself useful.” 

She replies with a swift but gentle kick to his bum as he bends to pin the pegs into the soil, but does as bid anyway, more so she could get herself something to eat than to follow his commands. Even outside of character, Legolas still acts like a prince and commands everyone and their mothers, and because he is so pretty and intimidating he usually achieves what he wants without much protestation. It's a good thing Legolas isn't sadistic or cruel or he would exploit that natural air of authority to terrible ends.

Under a pavilion, a DJ booth is spinning the latest top-40 atrocities, and on the other end, a volunteer is grilling is serving up patties to a wait of other hungry ren fest geeks, some of whom say hi to her. She is still very new compared to many who have been part of the team for many years, and even before they'd been part of the team they'd been regulars and knew the grounds and people as one would know their own home and family.

She sees that Legolas has switched his location in favor of the one by the drinking booth, and not surprisingly, he is chatting with Gimli, a stout, sturdy man with a orange bright beard and coarse hair the same color as the one on his chin.

Legolas takes the plate holding his veggie burger from her hand wordlessly. She is used to Legolas rarely vocalizing his thanks to anyone. 

“Hello there, lass,” greets Gimli with his gruff but friendly voice, the pink flesh that shows from under all that facial hair made ruddier with the flush of alcohol. “I was glad to hear you'd be making it to partake in this revelry. Legolas here was just telling me how you tend to shy away from parties.”

Tauriel launches Legolas a mildly accusatory look and he shrugs, a small tug on his lips that was as sheepish as Legolas can ever look.

Gimli doesn't seem to notice. “A few drinks in ya and you'll forget all those pesty social anxieties. I bet you could out-drink young Leggy here, genteel flower that he is.” 

“Do not challenge her to a competition, Gimli,” Legolas intervenes, choosing to ignore Gimli's goading for the present.

“I'm more a gentleman than that. But you and I have a score to settle.”

This time Legolas takes the bait. He never backs down from a direct challenge. “You're on.”

Tauriel already knows Legolas will win, so instead of watching the tomfoolery for yet another time, she fixes herself a cocktail of Ent Draught (lemonade, vodka, and coconut rum) and goes off to find Sigrid. Her trek is interrupted when a brogue-ish voice calls her name from her right. Sure enough, Kili is right there, striding towards her with just a bit of a skip in his gait. 

“Hi,” he says, all teeth and bright eyes, sparkling even behind that muss of bangs. 

“Hi,” she repeats the greeting and expression. 

“What do you have there? Oh, a veggie burger. My friend Radagast is vegetarian. He gets flustered whenever we eat meat if front of him.”

“Is he the guy who looks stoned all the time and carries a hedgehog under his weird floppy hat wherever he goes?”

“That would be him.”

They share a laugh, and it is drowned by the chant of encouragement that comes from the direction she had just left Legolas and Gimli. Both she and Kili turn their heads to see a crowd has gathered around the prince and the warrior. 

“What is going on over there?” Kili inclines his head to look over the crowd, for all the good it does him. 

“Legolas and Gimili are having a drink-off.”

“Gimli will surely win,” declares Kili. 

“My money is on Legolas.” 

“Would you like to bet on that?”

“Twenty.” This is not a gamble for her. This is an investment. 

They joined the crowd and each cheer their respective champion. Gimli begins to sway, while Legolas has not a hair out of place. In the end, Legolas is left standing, Gimli lays sprawled on the floor, tankard still in hand, and Tauriel is twenty dollars richer thanks to her friend and trustworthy intuition.

“I don't believe it,” says Kili as he witnesses a wave of people carry Legolas as he was the quarterback of a winning football team. Legolas is as smug and victorious as ever. 

“Don't let looks deceive you. Legolas's tolerance is legendary, did you not know?”

“I'd never witnessed it.” Kili shakes his head with incredulity. 

“Legolas has a gift for besting anyone in anything.” 

Kili quirks a brow, and only then does she realize her words could be interpreted as implying sexual prowess (which wouldn't be far from the truth regarding Legolas, but Kili does not need to know that). She adds, “He's almost too perfect. It can get annoying sometimes.”

“Does he ever beat you in archery?”

“At that we are even. Actually, I might even be better.”

“I wonder...” Kili says, and there is a mischievous edge to his smile. “How a match between you and I would go. There is an archery range less than an hour north of here. Would you be interested in going sometime? Legolas could join too, of course, though I'm not sure if he'd want to with-” Here he pauses, his face becoming guarded.”

“I know about Thranduil and your uncle.”

“Right. I thought so. But, would you?”

“I would love to. I'll ask Legolas, too.”

“Excellent.” His smile is almost blinding. “You should come meet my kinsman. They are good people.”

She looks over to where Legolas is stiffly dancing to the beat of an ubiquitous hip hop song Tauriel wishes would go away already. Okay, so there's one thing Legolas isn't good at. Dancing also means that Legolas is smashed. He won't miss Tauriel's absence, so she decides to follow Kili to their camp location. 

 

Tauriel has about a dozen pair of blinking eyes on her, many of them twinkling with a conspiratorial mischief. She recognizes many of their faces, has seen them around street performing or peddling, and they've tossed her a smile or nod but she's never formerly met their acquaintance until now.

They each have a distinctive feature about them, such as a bald spot and permanent scowl like Dwalin, rotund, large body and beard like Bombur, or crazy starfish-like hairstyle like Nori. Gloin is the only one of them she's met. He's Gimli's dad, and looks just like a his son. 

But the one that stands out the most, even though he has less adornment or peculiarity than all the rest save Kili, is the man Kili introduces as Thorin Oakenshield, his uncle. This family's gene pool certainly has been bestowed with looks, alright. He is a handsome man, grim and nearly as short as Kili, yet carries himself high enough to be imposing, even intimidating. She can see why two titans such as Thorin and Thranduil may have clashed. 

“Where's Fili?” Kili notes his brother's absence. 

“He's over there, talking to the bar wench,” points out Dwalin with the tankard he holds in his hand. Tauriel's eyes travel to the direction he is pointing at and finds the lion of the brother chatting with the wholesome doe Sigrid. He leans into her with a degree with familiarity while Sigrid is laughs at something Fili says, her hand over mouth as if to stifle her laughter. Sigrid would have been ruffled at being called a bar wench, even though it's a common term used at the faire for female bar servers, to add a layer of authenticity. Tauriel can't blame Sigrid for the distaste for the term, and is almost tempted to correct Dwalin if she was positive he meant it to be disrespectful, which she doubts. 

“Looks like he's in good company. Better than hanging out in this sausage fest.” A guy with ridiculous black Pippy Longstocking- like braids and unusual, not to mention, weather inappropriate bomber-type hat says this, and Tauriel can't recall his name even though he just said it a few minutes ago.

“That's Bofur,” whispers Kili in her ear, guessing her thought. A shiver goes down spine at his breath ghosts across her ear.

“Would you like a beer, lass?” Gloin asks her this, already a bottle of brew in his hand. 

“It's Lonely Mountain beer, my uncle's brew I was telling you about. Best beer in all the Midwest” Kili says encouragingly. 

“I'll have one.” She doesn't want to be rude, and Kili's face is so exulted she almost wants to pinch his arm for being too cute and contagious. 

They all stare in anticipation as she draws the lip to her mouth, and it's bizarre that she's being stared at as she's doing this but, what the hell, she takes a swig, and swirls it a bit in her mouth before she takes a swallow. 

“How is it?” Someone she can't see asks.

“It's good.”

“Just good?”

“I don't drink beer often, so I can't really compare, but is is the best beer I've ever had,” she announces honestly. It's true, it is the best beer she's ever had, which doesn't mean she likes the flavor but out of all the others she's tried, it's the least displeasing. It's chocolate-y in flavor, not quite as thick as a sundae and with a hint of maple syrup and something else she can't discern.

Soon, the men are deep in their cups and the shenanigans really get going. Fili and Sigrid join not much later, and Tauriel notices Fili has an arm around her waist. 

“I think Fili likes her,” says Kili at her side. He raises his tankard at his brother, and Fili returns the gesture. Tauriel just grins at Sigrid, who smashes her lips in a shy smile. 

In the company of these oddballs and with several alcoholic fixings inside her, Tauriel begins to relax and enjoy the herself, though she is nowhere near as drunk as any of them, save for Kili, who is measuring his own cups to hers. And Thorin, who is the most composed of them all, gazing at them fondly like a king among his own. As the hours go by, the jovial men become further inebriated, playing their old-fashioned acoustics and singing rollicking versus progressively sloppier. Finally, as the party begins to die down, Kili takes out his fiddle and begins to play the first few minor chords of a dysphoric melody, and they begin to sing. 

Far Over The Misty Mountains Cold....

At the end of the song, a few of them weep, some are passed out, and others stay silent.

Tauriel is not sure what just happened, but all of a sudden she feels like she might have witnessed something deeply personal and meaningful to this particular set of folk, who not long before were roughhousing and making mirth. 

“That was beautiful, and sad.” Tauriel says under her breath, and none but Kili hear her.

“It's a song about our forefathers, and we played it on the day of Thorin's father and grandfather's funerals.”

“Why would you play such a song?”

Kili does not look bothered by her question “It's tradition. We play it at the end of any merrymaking, to remind us to stay strong as a family.”

“Oh,” is all she can muster. It is strange for her, but that was to be expected in cultural differences. 

“Would you like to go for a walk? I'm afraid everyone is too gone to be much company, and I'd like to stretch my legs a bit.” 

Thorin had retreated into his tend, and Fili and Sigrid had left an hour ago. She'd wanted to follow, but Sigrid was an adult, and whatever she decided to do was her business. She just hopes her father does not find out about this.  
“Sure, a walk sounds nice.” 

 

Here out in the boonies, away from the light pollution of the city, the stars can actually be seen, and they wink down at them as they take a stroll around the borders of the camp grounds. Tauriel has always had a reverence for night, especially the stars, and she misses that about her home in the wilderness of Alberta, where they shine without filter. 

“I hope you had a good time,” says Kili, his tone soft and friendly. 

“I did, thank you. Your friends are good people.” Silly and loud as they are, they had made her feel like part of their own. Thorin had been more distant, but she suspects it was nothing personal, rather more wary with her connection to Thranduil. 

“Sure are. I hope Legolas doesn't mind that I whisked you away,” he says, his tone unapologetic but non-affront. 

“He's probably passed out by now. He might handle alcohol well, but even he has a limit.” She had seen Legolas staring at their direction for a while, and later he'd even flashed her a smile and nod, as if giving her his blessing. For what, she could only speculate, but she decided to put that behind her mind for now. 

Kili nods, and falls silent, as if ruminating. Then, earnestly says, “It'd be nice to put this petty quarrel aside, even if my uncle and Thorin still hate each other. There's no reason for me and Legolas and everyone else to be dragged into this mess.”

“I agree,” she responds, “I think Legolas wants that, too, but is too faithful to his dad to do anything that might offend him.”

Kili clears his throat, as if wanting to change the subject. “So I hear you paid our little shop a visit.”

Right after she had finished work, she had stopped by the Durin Brothers jewelry and novelty store, and was quite impressed at their craftmanship. “Yes. You make lovely jewelry. I was sad I couldn't afford any. I'm kind of broke.”

“That's too bad. But I'm glad you think so. Any in particular you liked most?”

“The circlet with the leaves and sapphire was lovely.”

A satisfied smile curves up his lips. “Yes, I made that one. Fili usually stays away from anything girly,” he says this rolling his eyes.

“He and Sigrid?” She says, latching onto the subject to calculate if Fili is worthy of her friend. 

Kili chortles. “Yeah, that's new to me, too. But I know he's liked her for some times. Don't worry. He's a good fella, and I'm not just saying that because he's my brother and she's your friend. Fili may act like a ladies man on stage, but he's really shy around the ladies. I think he finally got the courage to talk to her.”

“Are you a ladies man?” She asks teasingly, though part of her is unhappy at the probability. 

“What me? What gave you that impression?” He gives her an innocent expression. 

Tauriel just cocks an eyebrow at him, and his grin widens.

“Okay, fine. I admit I am a lot more suave with the female populace than he is, but that doesn't mean I get around to doing anything with them. Actually, my focus is more on my work right now. And anyway the person who has my interest is way too out of my league.”

Her pulse spikes, and an uncalled for thrill begins to swirl in her belly as she suspects who he may be talking about, but she's not going to say or do anything until she is sure. “Does she know?”

He gives her a side glance, then shakes his head and frowns. “I'm not sure. I've tried giving her hints but I think I'm failing.”

“Maybe you should tell her directly?” This is daring even for her, but she must know if she is right or her curiosity will break out into a rash. 

“I'm not sure I can handle that rejection, which is probably what's going to happen,” Kili continues on, not budging. 

“You can't know until you try,” she tries to hide the anticipation in her voice, lest she give herself away.

“You're right.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if to calm himself. When he opens them, all the playfulness is gone, replaced by a determined stare. “Tauriel. I like you. I know we just met, but you're someone I'd really like to get to know more, because what I do know I really, really like.”

Despite her supposition, she is rendered inarticulate. She hasn't anyone this be direct since, well, since never. Sure, she gets hits on, or unnecessarily cat-called, but men are usually too daunted by her aloof bearing to actually confidently speak to her. 

“Well, we should probably head back now, or they'll start making up rumors.” Kili says, and what sounds like disappointment edges his tone. 

He is turning to leave, but she halts him with a hand on his shoulder. “You didn't wait for my answer,” she says, releasing her anxiety as she bends slightly to kiss him, for she is taller than him. She's never kissed anyone this short, or this rugged, and she finds these differences in height and texture delightful, and she enjoys how his beard prickles against her upper lip. When she pulls away, she sees his eyes are closed and his lips still parted, as if he were in a dream.

“Wow.”

She giggles, yes giggles, and thinks, this is crazy, but she thinks-no- she does like him. 

A month later, during which they've been seeing each other, she finds a silver circlet set in the middle with a lone, lovely sapphire in her locker, with a note that reads:

"For Tauriel, the most beautiful gem of them all.

-Kili"

**Author's Note:**

> The idea came to me head when geeking out with Moonraykir about our mutual interest of the festival, and it would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. It was initially intended to be a one-shot, but I decided it would work better as a two-part story after I I had gotten half way with the story. 
> 
> I used the Minnesota Renaissance Festival as reference. I lived about five minutes away from there, and still live relatively close now and go at least once a year. 
> 
> This is an AU so in this world Tolkien sadly does not exist or it would clash with Tauriel, Kili and the rest being actual people.


End file.
